Tell me it's not True
by Mooncheese
Summary: The night Lily and James died, Sirius Black's world fell apart. His best friend: dead, his godson: taken away from him. What is there left to fight for? Peter, of course. One shot. Grated.
1. Chapter 1

Sirius Black stared with numb, hollow eyes at what was right in front of him. The wind wafted over his skin, causing goose bumps to rise and spread slowly over his body, yet he hardly acknowledged it. His hands clenched on the handles in front of him in a white-knuckled death grip. No. No. This…this couldn't…

His beloved motor bike fell with an ungainly slam and bang of expensive metal on the concrete, and he stepped over its painted body-work – black as his own name – and took another step forwards. His stomach trembled as he took a huge, gasping breath, but he refused to believe it. He couldn't – wouldn't. Sirius took another deep, unsteady breath and began to turn away, then spun back round again.

His lips were blue as they uttered his first word he'd made since he had arrived there. "James?" he whispered, gazing up at the house – what was a house – and felt his stomach twist sickeningly inside him. For a full moment he stood, frozen, chest heaving irregularly as he stared, unable to take his eyes away, then without warning he screamed, "JAMES!"

The echo of his shout repeated itself around and around him, mocking him, laughing at him. Sirius brought one violently shaking hand to his mouth, feeling the smooth leather of his glove against the rough stubble of his chin. His gloves were cold, he noted, in a vague, out-of-body way. They were cold. Cold as ice.

A thin trail of smoke continued to rise out of the rubble into the charcoal sky as though a fire had just died – _died. _Sirius took another step forwards, and felt the crunch of something under his foot. With blank, frenzied eyes he looked down and saw a photo- frame, its blackened silver frame outlining a photograph…Sirius could see the figures moving beyond the soot, a distinctive flower carved into the metal.

_He knew that picture. _

It sat on James and Lily's mantel piece.

It sat…and now it was here…

Sirius looked up from the picture and stared at the house, horror clenching his heart with icy fingers. He started towards the house – and the next second he was running as fast as he could, clearing the chunks of wood, plaster and furniture with a flying leap, paying nothing any heed anymore. James and Lily were in there – he, Sirius would save them, would drag them both out if he had to. A lone doorway stood on its own amid the rubble, and Sirius skidded through it, looking about him with crazed eyes.

"JAMES!" he roared, floundering through the rubbish, pushing his sweaty hair away from his forehead, looking around for his best friend, the friend who had been with him since the first year at Hogwarts. "JAMES, WHERE ARE YOU?"

No reply. He must be unconscious, thought Sirius wildly, knocked out by a falling chunk of plaster, motionless, perhaps buried under everything he was treading on. With an agonised moan, Sirius fell to his knees and started pulling up everything and tossing it over his shoulder, digging frantically, searching for jet-black hair, a pair of glasses, a hand, _anything_…

Sirius sat bolt-upright. An idea had just occurred to him. With a delighted smile he stood up, closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate, and the next second a bear-like, black dog stood where a man had been.

Padfoot raised his nose, sniffed the air, and recoiled at once. Everywhere reeked of smoke, hot metal, and fear. Heavy, unbearable fear like he had never smelt before. Whining, he put his nose the ground and took a long, drawn in sniff, centring his whole being on what he could smell, and within moments he was off, trained nose on the ground, thinking of nothing but picking up a smell he knew…of a smell he knew he knew….

He froze, something coming to him, and with a whimper of delight he abandoned his search and cleared the upside-down sofa with a graceful bound. He landed on his paws on the other side and lost his balance for a second, before racing forwards again, pausing to sniff the ground or the air, yes, he was getting closer, he could sense it…his friend wasn't far off…

Then he saw it. The black-haired head that lolled on a broken wooden beam, the familiar glasses lost, arms sprawled around him. Padfoot barked excitedly and scrambled over to him, tail wagging.

Prongs didn't move when he nudged him with his nose: his head only flopped to one side in an odd, broken sort of way. Placing a large, heavy paw on his chest, Padfoot gave a sharp bark. _Wake up. _

James didn't open his eyes. Fear flickered in the dog's heart but he refused to acknowledge it, obeying only his instincts by growling at his friend. _Wake up! Now!_

Padfoot stared at Prongs's limp form, and something struck a chord so deep within him he backed away, gazing at him, tail drooping. For a full minute the huge, black dog only stood and stared at the human who was his best friend – then it closed its eyes. There was something wrong here that he couldn't understand as an animal – and the next moment Sirius was standing on the rubble, staring down at James's cold, white face.

His face was set in an expression of horror, Sirius noted vaguely as he went crashing blindly to his knees, the jaw was set rigidly open, the eyes only half closed as though a bright light had once been shone there. Sirius knelt and looked at James's face, at the person who he had almost always considered a brother to him, the guy who had always stood, back-to-back with him in battle, the man who had got pissed with him on nights out, the only person in the world who had been like _real _family to him– and something so powerful rose up inside Sirius he roared out loud, and before he could stop himself he had grabbed his friends shoulders, shaking them violently, his face screwed up, fighting the emotion that had a death-grip on his heart. "PRONGS!" he yelled into the cold, marble skin of the man's ear, the feeling was clawing at his gut, it was screaming to be let out, but he wouldn't let it, Prongs couldn't be dead, he wouldn't let him, he couldn't just leave him like this…

James's head flopped backwards and forwards, puppet-like, and the feeling intensified so strongly that Sirius retched, twisting his entire body away and threw up into the hard stone and burnt material around him. Tears were rolling down his face as he did, and he cried so hard his body bucked and shivered, and felt as though his own heart was quaking behind his ribcage, a single unit of horror, and disbelief. His head was clouding up – he couldn't see properly, everything was growing blurred. Sirius brought his hands up to his face, fingernails clawing down his skin, and the next second, Padfoot lay where a broken man had been.

The dog dragged itself to its paws and looked round, whining desperately for any kind of signal to come from his brother, but none came. Limping forwards, Padfoot stared at the human's motionless figure once again, head drooped low. His fur stood on end as his black and white mind attempted to reason the scene before him. Why wasn't he waking up? Padfoot lay forwards, resting his head on Prongs's chest, staring off into nothing in particular, for nothing else mattered any more. All Padfoot knew was that a yawning black hole had just been torn into his life. Nothing made sense.

For how long he lay there didn't matter. Time seemed to stand still as Padfoot rested on Prongs's unmoving body, ears half-heartedly pricked for any coming danger. He may have even dozed off at some point – he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the next time he actually forced himself to function properly was when he saw the hulking figure of Hagrid pass him. Padfoot recoiled slightly, his hackles going up, resolving to bite the man if he came anywhere near him. He wanted to be left well alone. But Hagrid didn't see him as he picked his way carefully past him, and he soon disappeared out of Padfoot's vision range. He could still hear him crunching through the wreckage, however, then he suddenly heard his deep, rumbling voice speak, and then –

Padfoot sat bolt upright, eyes wide. He had just heard something. All was still as he sat on his haunches and listened - and the next second he shot forwards so fast he stumbled and hurt his leg, but he paid it no heed, he had just heard a sound – a baby sound that he knew and loved with all his heart.

_Harry! _

He raced through the gloom towards Hagrid's huge bulk, then jumped, transforming mid-leap and skidding round to his front, and the gargantuan man jumped, but Sirius only had eyes for the filthy, dirty bundle he held in his arms.

"Sirius?" blurted out the half-giant stupidly, but Sirius didn't listen. _Harry, Harry, oh God, Harry, is he alive…?_

"Harry!" he whispered, reaching out to take him, but Hagrid held the bundle protectively closer. The bundle heard him, however, and squirmed, and the next second a pair of startled green eyes were blinking at Sirius. A tuft of dusty, jet black hair just swept his forehead. It was him. Sirius nearly broke down sobbing all over again – he was alive, Harry was alive, it was alright…

"Sirius?" Hagrid was looking down at him with grief and empathy showing clearly in his black eyes, "Did yeh hear it from Dumbledore?"

The baby blinked owlishly at him from the sooty blankets, then tentatively reached out a small, pink fist. Smiling through his tears, Sirius put out his smallest finger and felt the monkey-like digits close around it, stroking Harry's face with his thumb. "Hey there, pup," he whispered, "Don't worry. I'm…here."

He looked up at Hagrid, reluctant to take his eyes from his god-son. "What are you doing here?" His voice came out as barely more than a croak, and he became aware his entire body was shaking. Hagrid bowed his head.

"Dumbledore'd told me," he said hoarsely, "Ter get little Harry outa this place before the muggles came. 'Cause he knew, somehow, that there'd been an attack." Hagrid gave an almighty sniff, shaking his wild, scraggly hair away from his eyes, not trying to stop the tears leaking down his face. "Sirius…I dunno what I can say to yeh. 'M sorry, is all I can tell yeh. Really, an' truly sorry."

What could he say to that? Thank you? Or 'it's alright'? Alright when he had just found his best friend lying…lying dead…Sirius's face contorted, fighting the howl that was battling to break free. He strained against it. Harry was watching him. He had to be brave for his godson. He was all that was left now.

"Let me take him, Hagrid," he said, suddenly desperate to hold the warm, solid baby-weight in his arms once more, "I need to hold him."

But when he held out his hands, Hagrid didn't hand him over. Looking up, Sirius saw the monstrous man was suddenly refusing to meet his eyes, and he frowned, his heart lurching inside him.

"Hagrid? Let me have him." His voice had stopped shaking. Hagrid took a deep breath and looked down, shaking his head.

"I'm his Godfather!" His voice rang out sharp and clear in the filthy air, but still Hagrid refused to hand Harry over.

"I can't," he replied, very softly. Sirius felt a flash of anger strike out inside him, the sudden feeling electrifying his darkened body.

"What d'you mean, you can't?" Hagrid was gazing at him pityingly.

"Dumbledore's orders, Sirius, he's ter go straight to his aunt and uncles. If I give him teh you…yeh might not give him back."

The wind whistled through his hair, and Sirius stared at him, feeling his jagged, sharp breath catch in his chest again. Aunt and Uncle…did Harry _have_ an Aunt and Uncle?

"Lily's sister," Hagrid put in, and Sirius flinched at the name, his face crumpling at the thought of the straight-backed, green eyed girl James had fallen for long ago. Lily? Strong, passionate, red-haired Lily, love of James's life, had she gone too?

And Harry was going to her…_sister?_

"Petunia," he spat, recalling what his best friend had once told him about her, "The magic-hater? Are you stupid, Hagrid? Has Dumbledore gone fucking crazy? SHE HATES HIM!" Every ounce of sorrow in his body seemed to have been channelled into blazing rage, and Hagrid flinched, staring down at the bundle of blankets into which Harry, frightened by Sirius's yell, had disappeared in.

"'M sorry, Sirius," he said quietly, "I know he's yeh god-son, but I've gotta take him where Dumbledore tells me ter take him. He knows best – yeh know that."

For a moment Sirius wondered whether to scream, to curse Hagrid or to rip Harry from his arms and run away with him – but in the end he did nothing. He only stood there, shoulders heaving and trembling. He stared at the ground in silence.

"Please let me hold him," he whispered finally, not bothering to disguise the desperation in his voice, "Please. I'll do anything – Hagrid – let me - " But the gamekeeper of Hogwarts was already turning away, his large face crumpling yet holding firm.

"Dumbledore said not ter let anyone take 'im away - "

"BUT I'M NOT JUST ANYONE!" Sirius roared, and he seized hold of his own hair, wishing he could rip it out, anything to distract him from the gaping hole inside him, "I'M HIS GOD-FATHER!"

Hagrid was already walking slowly away from him, leaving Sirius to stand there staring at his back, sobbing and cursing blindly through his tears, and it was obvious nothing would make him give up the baby to anyone that night. Nothing could come between Hagrid and the bloody headmaster's orders. Sirius knew that. And there wasn't a blasted thing he could do about it. He couldn't even help Harry. There wasn't one fucking thing…

"Hagrid!" he shouted suddenly, an idea falling into his mind. Hagrid didn't turn back, but Sirius caught up with him, running around to his front and forcing him to a stop. The half-giant regarded him with sorrowful black eyes, but didn't say anything. Sirius, however, was determined to do what he knew he had to do.

"Take my motor-bike."

"Eh?" Whatever Hagrid had thought, he certainly hadn't expected him to say that. Sirius gulped down hot air. That motor-bike was his pride and joy – but somehow, tonight, it didn't seem so important anymore.

"Take Harry on my motor-bike. It's safe for him – I promise."

Hagrid just looked at him with his mouth open. He opened his mouth, then frowned, and appeared to be thinking hard.

"Don't yeh need it ter get home, like?" he asked, but Sirius shook his head furiously, strands of hair whipping his forehead.

"No! Just take it, Hagrid. Just… just take care of Harry for me."

For what seemed an eternity Hagrid continued to stare at Sirius, his solid, muscle packed body silhouetted against the thunderous sky. The wind blew, chilling Sirius to the bone, and he shivered, pulling his robes taut against his body. Finally, Hagrid nodded, and turned away without another word. Sirius understood. There wasn't anything left to say.

_Tell me it's not true._

He watched as the monstrous man took his god-son away, and heard him grunt as he hauled up the bike and kicked it into life.

_Say it's just a story,_

He cocked his head and listened to the beautiful thrum and purr of a well-built engine, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

_Something on the news._

Hagrid sat astride his motor bike, one hand cradling that precious bundle – the other clutching the handle. Briefly he turned his head and looked in Sirius's direction, then set his huge, leather boots on the stands and took off into the grey clouds. Once again, Sirius was alone.

_Tell me it's not true, _

_Though it's here before me._

Alone with the bodies.

_Say it's just a dream,_

His shoulders shook silently. He didn't dare look anywhere, but kept his watering eyes fixed on the sky, huge black marbles in a chalk-white face. How did it come to this?

_Say it's just a scene,_

Sirius's stomach clenched. Horror-struck, he wheeled round and stared up into the sky, searching for an acid green skull suspended in mid-air, yet there was none.

Peter had been the secret keeper. Peter had switched with him at last minute. Peter. Peter. _Peter. _

_Tell me it's not true. _

Rage as he had never known before blinded him as his body convulsed tightly, and Sirius screamed into the night. James, _dead, _Lily, _dead, _Harry, living with his _aunt_, and it had been _Peter all along. _

Sirius felt inside his pocket, shaking so hard his wand got caught in the lining, and with a snarl he ripped it out. Holding it close to him, he whispered the words that would help him with his apparition, and with a whip-like _crack, _Sirius Black disappeared.

_Tell me it's not true. _

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Yeah, yeah, so shoot me. I did another one-shot (hides as reviewers throw rotten fruit) I just had to get this out there. Twisted Perfection has been giving me…pains…so I wrote this instead. In case any of you are wondering where the superb poetry came from…it's not mine…that's all I'm saying.

Review?


	2. Chapter 2

He was a fighter, that one. Maybe I hadn't been in the business long, but hell, I'd been Mad Eye's apprentice long enough to pick out the fighters from those who came quietly.

Maybe that was what scared me so much. I saw him. My arm was thrust out, Auror stick-up style. It was trembling. I couldn't hide that. My facial muscles twitched when I saw the bodies. Mad Eye saw me and I knew he'd have words with me about that later. For the moment, though, he couldn't do anything about it.

Sirius Black. His head turned slowly in our direction, as we edged carefully up the street, stepping over lolling, lifeless bodies. A woman was sobbing over a motionless child, barely looking up as we passed her. Her agonised screams followed us up the street, where he stood alone. His eyes were blank, scheming, murderous pits. My arm shook even more, but I kept it trained directly at his heart.

His wand was clenched in his fist, and he stood facing the enormous crater that had split the entire street in two. Hair rose, lifted by the strong, enraged wind, and his face seemed frozen, pulled, putty like, in a grimace of shock. He would run. I could see it in his muscles, tensed, alert, waiting for the right moment. Mad Eye had described people like this to me – the runners. The guys who wouldn't quit. He would run.

Sirius Black. Friend to the Potter's, I'd heard. Questions, thousands of them, were running through my head. I took several deep, gulping breaths, trying hard to ignore the stench of death. My first Away Call. I needed to remain calm.

"Sirius Black." Mad Eye, stepping forward, the first to speak. His face, I saw, was twisted in his effort to conceal any emotion. He had always spoken highly of Black. "Drop your wand and raise your hands to shoulder height."

I was still convinced he would run when he started laughing.

Just like that. He started laughing.

The wand dropped to the floor with an audible clatter, and a harsh, bark of a laugh racked its way from his mouth, and he stood there, surrounded by chaos, surrounded by death, despair, _laughing_. Mad Eye stepped back, momentarily surprised. Then his face snarled in disgust.

"Accio wand." Black's wand sailed into his outstretched hand. Loud, undignified laughter roared from Black's mouth. Other, younger members of the Away Team were shaking their heads, disgust almost tangible emanating from them. Sykes and McGanin, at a nod from Mad Eye, walked slowly and deliberately forward, keeping their wands outstretched at all times. Then, with two quick flicks, ropes bound Black's wrists together.

Laughter was now echoing around us all as they arrested him, callous, loud, grating laughter. He was hysterical, _tears _were literally running down his face. My stomach heaved, and I inwardly begged with them to remove him as soon as possible. My wand arm trembled violently, and I didn't know how much longer I could stand there without being sick.

Sirius Black, a murderer, and a traitor. I never knew the guy. But from that second, I knew he would become one of the most hated men in the whole of the Magical World. And I knew, as they took him past me, that his laughter in the face of death would haunt me for the rest of my life.

0o0

Hey, I don't know why, but I thought this would make a good sequel to the previous chapter. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

His eyes. His eyes were always one of the first things you noticed about him. Other people disagreed. Admittedly, the first thing you _saw_ when you looked at him was a shock of hair just long enough to defy the modern trend, angular cheekbones, haughty yet casual posture. But the first thing you _noticed, _the second he looked straight at you, were his eyes. Smoky grey, illuminated by the promise of mischief, intense love, and the hint of defiance, the urge to rebel that constantly sparked in the corner.

Eyes that were full of _life. _

I'm standing here before you now. Looking through the bars that hold you captive within your own mind, within your own nightmares. What is it that keeps you twitching and shuddering at irregular moments? Are you thinking of James, Sirius? Are you thinking of Lily?

Everything about you, I recognised as a stick of dynamite, so ready to explode, only needing a spark before you blew up. The first time I met you, I immediately saw the danger, the precarious balance between good humour and an insatiable lust for revenge. That bitter taste for vengeance that you always had on the world. It's so typical of you, isn't it? If someone hit at you, you'd always kick back ten times harder.

There's nothing to kick back at now, Padfoot. You're finished. Dead to the world.

I don't think I like you anymore.

You and James were a unit, a gestalt entity, functioning on each other's thoughts rather than words. You were together in any sense of the word – weaker divided, stronger united. The two of you had the same bull-headed approach to life. Any situation, and you would both go rushing into it, horns first, thoughts later.

Are you reliving the times you had with James, Sirius? Are your Black guts writhing with guilt? I'm standing here before you now, watching your form, curled into a ball on the floor.

You're trembling, Sirius.

I'm half expecting you to throw your head back and howl, like we did on a full moon, us two canines ruling the Forest.

James and Peter lagging behind as we tore up to a hill, my obsession with that round, silver orb in the inky sky driving me faster, you matching me, step for step, leaping agilely from side to side to stop me going off track. Our voices piecing the air, caught by the wind and blowing them far away, leaping and pouncing on each other with wild abandon.

Of course, I don't really remember that.

All I ever remembered from full moons was the vague, passing feeling of untamed delight, coupled with an even poorer memory of a dog's silhouette, created from silver grains.

I want those memories.

I want so many things. It's wrong to want what you can never have, but my mind is screaming so hard inside that it's difficult to keep them in. I want to go back to those Hogwarts day and watch you and James function together once again. I want to break down these bars and haul you by your filthy, matted hair to your feet and roar _just what the fuck do you think you're playing at_ into your miserable face.I want you to roll over and look at me with eyes that are the eyes of _my _Sirius, my endlessly loving, prank adoring, mischief making, the world-owes-me-something Sirius, not the hard grey eyes of a murderer and traitor.

The eyes of someone who betrayed his brother, his best friend. The eyes of someone who blew apart his other friend when he tried to escape the consequences.

Did it feel good murdering Peter, Sirius? Did you laugh at his pathetic attempts to stop you, knowing he never could? Did he deserve to be kicked back at all ten times harder for daring to try?

It's just me and you now, Padfoot. I won't tell anyone, I promise. Did you relish the sight of his body sprayed in little pieces around you? Come on now. Just look around and tell me. It can our little secret.

I've sunk to the floor, though I have no recollection of how I got there. You look closer from down here. The light from your window is sending a weak stream of light onto your head. Your fingers are clutching your hair – you're rocking. You're broken, aren't you, Sirius?

You're dead. Dead, but somehow permitted to remain alive. Like me, I suppose. I died along with James and Peter when I found out the news. It's only my body that lives.

You really fucked it up this time, Padfoot…

0o0

Well, once again I'm adding something to this story that just popped into my head. This is from Remus's POV, if you hadn't guessed…whether he really is in Azkaban or if he is just dreaming about Sirius is up to you to decide.

Go on, review…let me know what you think…


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